A Purple Polka Dotted Elephant
by Pinkmoon
Summary: Who knew a simple crush would cause so much trouble. But, I suppose, a crush isn’t really all that simple when it’s your eldest stepbrother that you’re crushing on. LizzieDerek sibling bonding. Oneshot


A Purple Polka Dotted Elephant

By Pinkmoon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction nor would I be broke.

AN: Well, first off, this is my first LWD fanfic so please be gentle with the criticism. Second, I sorry if Lizzie and Derek seem out of character, I haven't watched much of the show so I'm still learning. And I hope this isn't too much of a stretch but I've noticed how there are stories about Casey/Derek and Marti/Derek but no real Lizzie/Derek. So that got my mind going and I came up with this. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

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I should have never gone to Casey. None of this would have gotten so crazy and I wouldn't be sitting in my room, waiting for the last and ultimate confrontation. Who knew a simple crush would cause so much trouble. But, I suppose, a crush isn't really all that simple when it's your eldest step-brother that you're crushing on. 

Still, it isn't like I could have controlled it, right? You can't choose who to fall in love with or who to be attracted to. At least I don't think so. If you could, then I wouldn't have fallen for him.

He's so…immature, as Casey would say. He's reckless, wild, a male chauvinist, hopeless with school work, obsessed with sports (which really isn't a bad thing), always picking on Casey. He's everything Casey hates and, as her sister, everything I'm supposed to hate too. But I don't.

There's a knock at my door. Strange, he never knocks, or so Casey claims. He's never really come to my room before, never really had a reason to. I can feel my stomach twist into those complicated knots no one knows how to make or untie. My room, he'll be in my room. Touch my things. Sit on my bed. Explain why this crush of mine is foolish. How does anyone expect me to sleep in here after that?

"Come in," I mumble weakly. I really don't want to talk to him. I wish I could pretend I'm invisible and shout "You can't see me! You can't see me!" like Marti does sometimes. Then he would have to leave me alone until I declared I was visible again. But I'm twelve, not six. And he won't let me get away with that.

He walks into my room slowly. He seems as nervous as me. I sigh softly and sit up. I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around my knees. He goes over to my desk, pulls out my chair, and straddles it.

I study him as he struggles to find away to start the conversation. Ocher hair falls into his dark brown eyes. Blue t-shirt underneath a plaid, unbutton shirt adorn his upper body. Faded blue jeans clad his legs, the beginnings of a hole in one knee. Then there are his black tennis shoes. I stare at them.

They were the same shoes he wore when he first took me on the ice so I could learn how to stop. I had just started playing hockey and he was known as the "Hockey God" at his high school. Our parents talked him in to coaching me some. He took me to a rarely used ice rink. Apparently, he and the owner were on good terms, and the owner let him use the rink when ever he wanted.

We were sitting down, putting our skates on. I watched as he quickly, without thought, laced up his skates as he rambled off some tips I barely caught. I wasn't as quick and was still struggling when he was done. I couldn't seem to get the laces tight enough. He watched me for a moment, amused expression on his face, before he finally asked if I needed any help.

The offer caused my heart to start fluttering. That annoyed me. I was a strong, independent feminist. And I was a tomboy. My heart did not flutter because a guy paid me any attention. Especially when that guy was my step-brother.

As if to prove to myself that I felt nothing for him, I accepted his help. He knelt in front of me and expertly tied up my ice skates. He was so close. His hand brushed against my leg at the top of my skate. The spot began to tingle. My heart started to beat double time. Instant disgust with myself. He couldn't move fast enough.

"That tight enough?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded, not trusting my voice. He stood and held out his hands to help me stand. I grasped them. His hands were warm and engulfed my smaller ones. I let him pull me up. I never realized how strong he was.

He moved out on to the ice, gliding over the cold surface. Watching him skate took my breath away. He made it seem so easy, so effortless. He reminded me of Casey at her dance recitals. Movements smooth, graceful, elegant. That's when I knew I was in deep.

"Lizzie," his gentle voice snaps me out of my memories. I meet his eyes. I've never seen him look so serious, so forlorn. What was going through his head? Was he wondering when this had started? What did he do to cause it? Why in the world, of all people, was it him?

"I…uh think…um…that…" Ugh, he's horrible at this.

"Don't," I mumble, partly to help him, partly because I don't want to hear what he has to say.

"Don't?" His confused look fixes on me. I have to look away.

"Don't tell me what I already know," I clarify, and then proceed to recount what everyone else has told me. "I'm too young. You're too old. I'm your stepsister. You're a horrible person. It's really weird. And it's totally gross."

The last sentence belongs to Edwin. He had been furious when the news of my crush reached him. After Mom and George left, he stomped into my room and marched straight to my bed.

"Lizzie, what are you thinking!" he yelled at me. I just sat there, looking at my hands. I was never aware of how long my fingers were.

"This is going to ruin everything! And Derek! That's got to be the grossest thing I've ever heard of! Lizzie, are you crazy!" he ranted as he paced back and forth. I didn't really understand what he meant by "everything." Probably talking about the family dynamics or something.

"So I'm the last one to talk to you about this?" he asks, interrupting my memories once more. He looks a little amused. Is he laughing at me? Is this really all some joke to him? I stared at my comforter.

"Ironically enough, yes," I mutter. I really wish he'd leave.

Silence. If I had been Casey, he probably would be teasing me and coming up with some cruel, witty nickname. He'd mock me at school, tell me I'm disgusting, call me every degrading name he could think of, and would never feel guilty. Because Casey could take it. She wouldn't shatter into a million fragments or be heart broken for the rest of her life. She would get over it, develop her emotions into hate, and things would return to normal. But I wasn't Casey, and he had always been kinder to me than he was to her.

"It's not gross or weird," he declares suddenly. I look up at his face. He's face is serious but his eyes still hold some of his previous mirth. Why is this so humorous to him?

"Isn't it?" I ask bitterly. My tone must have affected him for his eyes darken and his face becomes hard.

"No, it's not," he fervently maintains, "we've only known each other for a few months, hardly long enough to develop any kind of sibling relationship. And we're with each other twenty-four seven. It's not that surprising."

"Mom was shocked," I argue, though not as strongly as I would like. Something about his words makes me think that he is being serious about this.

"Nora and Dad are oblivious and wouldn't notice a purple polka dotted elephant in the living room until someone pointed it out to them."

That made me laugh. I guess he does understand. I had been expecting him to patronize me, treat me with kid gloves, and console me like he would Marti. But that had never been his way of dealing with me.

Out on the ice, he showed me a couple of ways to stop and wanted me to emulate him. He wanted me skate toward him as fast as I could and stop when I was about reached him. I skated toward him, little clumsy at first. As I picked up speed, I could feel myself fight to keep my balance. I tried to slow down and come to a stop like he showed me a few feet away from him but all I ended up doing was loosing my balance.

Suddenly, white, cold ice was coming up to greet my face and I couldn't stop the meeting. This was so going to hurt. Then out of nowhere, two arms slithered around my waist and pulled me up sharply. My back slammed into his chest and he struggled to keep his balance and help me regain mine.

Once we both found our footing, we just stood there, catching our breath. His breath teased my hair. The pounding of my heart filled my ears. My face burned. My hands had a death clasp on his arms, arms that still embraced me.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes," I managed to squeak. I was glad he couldn't see my face. I knew it had turned red. His arms slipped away and my hands released him.

"Well, that was an interesting first attempt. Reminds me of Casey in Klutzilla mode," he kidded. I gave him an odd look as he skated away, barking out orders. Strange how every thing I did reminded him of Casey.

"Lizzie," he starts again, ruining the image of me in his arms, and stands. I watch as he comes to my bed and sits in front of me. Looks at his hands and then looks at me.

"You're a great kid," he states slowly. I wonder if he's practiced this. "And this crush isn't a bad, evil thing. Maybe if you were older, I'd…"

I watched as he stumbled over his words.

"You just see me as your little sister," I state simply, wondering why this was so hard for him when it all seems elementary to me. Then I begin to slowly explain. "At first, I fought it. Thought I was insane for liking you. But then, it…became exciting…fun. Wondering what you might say to me, daydreaming about it. It made life interesting."

"Why did you tell Casey?" He looks back at his hands, pondering that new bit of information.

I shrug my shoulders. "I thought she would have understood. It was just a harmless crush. I knew nothing would come from it. I tried to explain but…she just freaked and told Mom."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry Lizzie."

"Why? This isn't your fault."

"I'm sorry this didn't turn out like your daydreams." He looks at me, eyes darker than I've ever seen them. I just stay silent.

"Lizzie, if it wasn't for the age and maybe stepsibling thing, I think I would have asked you out."

His words strike a thought and I smirk a little.

"Derek, you'd ask anything female out."

He guffaws and grins wildly at me. "I was trying to be nice."

"Nice doesn't suit you." I replied. We sat there from a moment. The world began to realign, our relationship slowly slipped back into proper focus.

"So this crush thing--"

"Is nothing and will be replaced with sisterly affection," I reassure him.

He nods and looks at the floor. He bites his bottom lip. His hand runs through his hair. What was he thinking? He looks up and stares at a picture of me and Casey.

"You know," he starts, "you're not the only one with a crush on their step-sibling."

Suddenly, I know. I know, unreasonably, illogically, that he liked Casey. Their fighting suddenly made sense. How he always thought of her no longer seemed strange. The way he quickly shot down the stepsibling thing now took on a new light. He liked my sister, his stepsister. Not me, I realize. I am just the kid sister.

"Casey," I mumble, dejected.

"Casey," he confirmed and then looked at me. "And Edwin."

"Edwin?" Who could he be crushing on? I had thought the whole stepsibling thing…oh, my…

"Yeah, Edwin," he grinned. And with that he stood and left the room.

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Tell me what you think and please forgive me for any OOCness. I hope you enjoyed. 

Pinkmoon.


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